


you're not the answer i should know

by forgottendialect



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgottendialect/pseuds/forgottendialect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 1.06. Shay tries to make Dawson feel better. Dawson escalates the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're not the answer i should know

 

Casey and his wife leave the party early, exhausted and disgustingly, publicly affectionate in their relief. Through the drunken crowd assembled around the bar, Shay spots Dawson darting forward to grab another shot and then disappearing to a table at the very back of the room. Her morose face, even in light of the verdict going her way, is enough to force Shay into action. Grabbing another rum and coke for herself and another beer for Dawson, she sidesteps the crowd of drunken morons and drops into the seat opposite her.  
  
“Hey, grumpy bear.” The glare Dawson shoots her would be withering to anyone who hadn't been her sole companion during all manner of bad moods for years. “You look pretty bummed for someone who just got let off really easy on what could have been a career-ender.”   
  
Dawson hmms and takes a long drink of her beer. Shay considers her, quietly, but then decides that subtlety's never been their thing, anyway.  
  
“You're gonna get over him eventually, you know. It's gonna get better.”  
  
Dawson glares at her again, but her heart's not in it. She looks down, rolling her glass slowly between her palms, and sighs.   
  
“I know. I just wish it would hurry up and happen, already." Shay ducks her head to catch Dawson's eye, smiles sympathetically, which makes Dawson smile a little too. She sighs again and her shoulders relax just an inch. “It's just completely stupid. He's married. He is so married.”  
  
Shay nods along, trying to look as sympathetic as she can.  
  
“Yeah, he is.”  
  
“I don't want to like him, I just... do. I really, really like him.”  
  
“I know you do, honey. But so does his wife.”  
  
Dawson chokes a laugh.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, she does. God, and you know what kills me? She is so nice. She's a really nice, good person.”  
  
“Would it make it easier on you if she was awful?”  
  
“No, it just... Maybe, yeah. Maybe a little.” Shay can't help but laugh, and it sets Dawson off too. She's still laughing as she adds, “God, isn't that horrible? I mean, it wouldn't make him any less married if she was any meaner. I'm a mess.”  
  
Shay tries her best to stop giggling, but can't keep the smile off her mouth.  
  
“You're not a mess, Gabby. You just like him.”  
  
Dawson drains the rest of her beer, then thunks the glass down decisively onto the table.  
  
“Screw liking him. It's stupid and unfair and just... stupid. I need to stop liking him. No, you know what? I need to stop liking men. Men are just... men are the worst. Screw 'em.”  
  
Shay laughs a little and stretches her legs out along the seat beside her.  
  
“Well, much as I'd love for you to come over to the dark side, I gotta tell you, if it's emotional bullshit you're trying to stay away from, you do not wanna start liking women instead.” Dawson grins and tips her glass towards Shay, conciliatory. “I mean, I am one hundred percent lesbian, and always have been, but lesbians are the worst.” Dawson laughs again, but turns drunkenly contemplative as the bartender appears and clunks another round onto the table.  
  
“So you've never been attracted to a guy? Like, never?”  
  
Internally, Shay wonders if there's a scientific study out there somewhere on the number of drinks it takes for straight girls to suddenly become fascinated by lesbianism.  
  
“No, not really. I mean I've had lots of guy friends, and I've really liked some of them, as like, people, but the idea of having sex with a dude is just... ugh.” She shakes her head takes another swig of her drink. “I've just never looked at a dude and wanted to be anywhere near that, sexually.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really. But girls, ugh.” She executes a dramatic, dreamy sigh that makes Dawson snort into her drink.  
  
“Always girls, huh?”  
  
“Always just girls.”  
  
Dawson stares at her for a minute, eyes narrowing then darting away.  
  
“Did you ever... Think that way, you know, about me? When we first started working together, I mean.”  
  
Shut this down right now, Shay, she tells herself.  
  
“Of course I did.” her mouth helpfully supplies. Dawson lights up, instantly, and while Shay wants to smack herself and crawl into a hole somewhere, it's the most animated and happy the other woman has looked all day. “Oh, don't get too full of yourself, Dawson. Of course I noticed you, I'm not blind.”  
  
Dawson can't seem to decide between treating it as a joke or a compliment, and finally settles on pulling a face and asking, “You think I'm noticeable?”  
  
Shay levels her with a look that she normally employs when Dawson's doing something really stupid (like mooning over married men), and sighs.  
  
“You are incredibly good looking. Of course you're noticeable.” Dawson flushes, but looks delighted all the same. Shay decides that the last thing this situation needs is more alcohol. She grabs the bartender as he goes past and asks for four of the biggest glasses of water they have. Her limbs are pleasantly warm, and she knows from past experience that this sweet and giggly Dawson comes two or three drinks before not being able to walk straight. When the waiter returns with the water, Dawson looks at her like a grumpy puppy.  
  
“Quitting already? I'm not even drunk yet.”  
  
“Yeah, but I'm on shift in the morning. We both know how not fun that siren is when you're hungover.”   
  
Dawson grimaces. She knows, logically, that the human body has no real memory for pain, but the very mention of 'hangover' and 'siren' are enough to make her shiver with a kind of sense memory of horror.  
  
Shay looks around the restaurant, taking in the progressively sloppy state of their makeshift family, and then turns back to Dawson and nods.  
  
“Right, okay, I vote we get out of here.” Dawson raises an eyebrow. “Come on, I've got junk food and a really comfy couch with your name on it, and Severide is god knows where. Let's celebrate your suspension with an ER marathon, really get you into the swing of being temporarily out of work.” Dawson laughs, then realises that the idea of curling up on Shay's couch where it's quiet and warm and it's just the two of them, not having to talk, feels like exactly what she needs.  
  
“Yeah, you know what? That sounds perfect.” Shay grins, and it lights up her face, and Dawson lets it spread through her, as well. Shay downs the rest of her water and jumps up.  
  
“C'mon, let's make a break for it before these guys remember this party was supposed to be about you.”  
  
Laughing, Dawson lets Shay take her hand and tug her out of the booth. She waves to Mills as they duck out the front door, mouthing a thank you, and he's too drunk to respond before they're out in the parking lot. They break out into a run as they near Shay's car, giggling like kids caught up in the thrill of cutting school. Dawson's laughing half at how ridiculous they're being and half because she feels lighter and happier than she has in god knows how long. And yeah, maybe she's an idiot for being in love with Casey, but she also didn't lose her job today, and she has a restaurant full of people who love her and are happy for her, and a partner who is probably her best friend even when they've spent the whole day being cranky with one another.  
  
She jumps into the passenger seat of Shay's car, says “Quick, Peter Mills is coming!” and laughs as she watches Mills get to the restaurant door in time to see them peel out of the parking lot.  
  
…  
  
At Shay's apartment, Dawson flops down on the couch and is immediately half-buried under a pile of blankets and Twizzlers. Shay cracks open her ER box set and they spend the next several hours critiquing every medical procedure and yelling at the TV when Doug is being a bastard and cheering every time Carol does or says anything.  
  
In the break between disks, Dawson looks over and bursts out laughing at the way Shay is sitting, slouched and legs spread apart like an old man, and Shay throws a Twizzler at her head and slumps even further to make her laugh again. Then she remembers why Shay is working so hard to distract her and make her laugh, and then she's mad at herself for spoiling it by thinking about Casey again. Shay would be a way better boyfriend than Casey, anyway. If she was a boy. Yeah, she could be a little, well, curmudgeon-y, but she was also loyal and caring and awesome and a good friend.  
(There is nowhere near enough alcohol left in her system to be blamed for the fact that that sounds like it might be a really nice idea.)  
  
Shay catches Dawson watching her, and offers a confused “What?” while lifting the blanket between them to search for the remote. Dawson doesn't let herself think it through before she leans forward and kisses her. For a second, she feels Shay's lips push against hers, soft and firm, and then she pulls back and raises her hands between them in the universal sign for  _woah, Nellie_.  
  
There's a long pause as Shay stares at Dawson with her mouth open, and then; “... Um.”  
  
Dawson can't decide if she wants to apologise or not, so she doesn't say anything.  
  
Shay seems to decide to ignore whatever it is that just happened, and moves to get up and change the dvd. Dawson catches the edge of her shirt and pulls her back down to kiss her again, slightly longer this time until Shay pulls away.  
  
“Gabby, what are you doing?”  
  
“I don't... I don't know.” Shay frowns and her mouth goes thin.  
  
“Just because I said I noticed you when we first met doesn't mean I've secretly wanted to have sex with you this whole time, you know.”  
  
“I know! I would never- I don't think that.”  
  
“Well, then...” Her hand wavers in a little loop between them. Gabby shrugs, with one shoulder, and smiles a little with the other corner of her mouth.  
  
“Maybe I want to.” She pulls Leslie in with a hand on the back of her head, this time, and is pleased when she kisses back longer and harder than before and sounds a little breathless when she pulls away.  
  
“Oh my god, you need to stop doing that.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I'm not a saint, Dawson.” She grabs the hand that's playing through the fine hairs at the base of her neck, and relocates it safely to the couch. “Come on, you don't really wanna do this.”  
  
“I do want to do this.”  
  
“You just said you maybe wanted to do this.”  
  
Dawson fixes her with a hot stare, ducking her head and looking up at her through her lashes.  
  
“I really, really want to do this.” She holds her gaze for a long moment, all serious and determined, and when she shifts forward again Shay closes her eyes and leans in to meet her.  _Definitely_  not a saint.  
  
Dawson has never been into another girl before, categorically isn't into girls, but Shay's full lips as she kisses her and her tiny waist and soft curves as she presses closer feel all kinds of amazing. Shay's hair tickles Dawson's cheeks as she pulls away from her mouth to kiss at her neck (soft and blonde and don't think about that) and then she bites down just below her ear and Dawson really stops thinking about anything else.  
  
It's been such a long time since she fell for Casey and has been able to bear having anyone else touch her that Dawson is panting and moving restlessly against Shay in a matter of minutes. She lets Shay pull her off the couch and walk her backwards towards her room, trying so hard to stay close to her body that they nearly trip and fall on the stairs. When they get to the landing Shay stops and pushes Dawson none-too-gently into the wall, breathing heavier as Dawson arches up against her. She takes a step back, holds Dawson away from her by the hips.  
  
“Hey, if we do this, you have to promise me something.”  
  
Dawson is panting, eyes unfocused, tries to pair it with a kiss when she leans in and breathes; “Yeah?” Shay ducks out of the way and looks her in the eye.  
  
“You have to promise you won't freak out and get all weird on me, okay?” Dawson rests against the wall, looks at her like she's really considering it, then nods.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“You promise?”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
Everything speeds up once they reach the bedroom, and Shay feels like she's on fire, only catching glimpses of Dawson's skin as they pull at each others clothes but won't stop kissing long enough to properly get rid of them.  
  
She knows this is going to be a huge mistake, and that it's going to ruin their friendship. But just because she implied that she hasn't noticed Dawson in that way since doesn't mean she actually said it. So technically, she wasn't lying. But her feelings for Gabriela have always skirted the line between colleague and crush and it's not like she could have spent three years working beside her and getting to know her and love her and becoming part of a clause, a Shay-and-Dawson, and never have entertained the notion of what could have been if Dawson wasn't so straight.  
  
As she pushes her onto the bed Shay reminds herself that she'd sworn she was done screwing straight girls. It's such a dumb, rookie move, and it makes her feel like such a terrible lesbian.  
  
She does, however, feel like a pretty spectacular lesbian when she goes down on Dawson and makes her cry out and pull at the sheets so hard they come undone around the corners of the bed.  
  
Afterwards she gets herself off against Dawson's thigh, kissing at her collarbone and the top of her chest, pleasantly surprised when Dawson gets her hand in between them to swipe at her clit, pushing her over the edge. She flops down on the other side of the bed to catch her breath and Dawson follows, curling up against her and kissing her till their mouths are swollen and sore.  
  
Dawson is dozing off when she hears her name. She opens her eyes to find Shay looking at her across the pillow. Her pale eyes are nearly translucent in the dark.  
  
“No freaking out in the morning, remember?”  
  
Dawson smiles at her, twines their fingers together in the space between them on the bed.  
  
“No freaking out. I promise.”  
  
…  
  
Dawson, predictably, freaks out in the morning.  
  
She wakes with Shay's hair in her mouth, and an arm slung across her back. Everything's warm and soft and smells like lazy shifts in the back of the rig. It's nice, until she realises where she is and, more importantly, why. She's out of the bed before Shay opens both eyes, stumbles through pulling on her clothes and bruises her hip when she collides with the dresser. She makes some half-hearted excuse about having plans and is out the door before Shay's even gotten halfway down the stairs behind her.  
  
Severide strolls into the living room a few minutes later, notices that Shay's wearing her post-sex robe, and goes for a high-five. She glares daggers at him till he retreats into the kitchen.  
  
…  
  
Dawson spends her days off cleaning her tiny apartment, cooking more food than she could ever eat and dropping half of it off at her brother's house, dodging his questions about how she is and his questioning eyes that scream of wanting to ask her about how her disastrous love life is, too.  
  
She doesn't talk to Shay, but it's not like they socialize that much outside of work, anyway.  
  
…  
  
When she does go back to work, Shay greets her with a mostly normal smile while the guys are busy yelling and cheering and patting her on the back. They get sent out within half an hour to an accident scene, spend the next two hours fishing a still-drunk teenager out of his mangled car. By virtue of the years they've spent becoming perfectly synchronized and the instinct that takes over when there's a call, it's not disastrous, just... awkward. Dawson spends most of the time they're alone in the truck together staring out the window while Shay drives, and pointedly does not speak to her unless she has something to say about work.  
  
When they pull into to the station at the end of shift, Shay reaches over and grabs Dawson's arm to stop her from leaping out of the rig right away. Dawson flinches away from her, and Shay tries not to be hurt and ends up angry at them both.  
  
“I thought we weren't going to be weird about this.” Dawson frowns and refuses to look at her.  
  
“Well, I wasn't... thinking clearly. When I agreed to that.”  
  
Shay's face goes dark and pinched and she waits until Dawson finally looks up at her to respond.  
  
“Don't you dare act like I took advantage of you. That's not fair, Gabriela.” Dawson, at least, looks regretful.  
  
“I didn't mean it like that.” What she meant, she then realises, is that she would have agreed to anything just so Leslie wouldn't stop kissing her, stop touching her, because she'd wanted her so much she couldn't breathe. It doesn't help the way she feels guilty and angry and sad all at once.  
  
Across the wide bucket seat, Shay sighs.  
  
“We're gonna be fine. This happens, right? Nothing has to change or mean anything more. Let's just be friends again, okay?” She looks across at Dawson's sad, worried face, and suddenly doesn't even have the energy to be angry. “Come on, Dawson. Lighten up. At least now you've seen how the other half lives, so you've narrowed down your list of potential romantic partners. Maybe we can actually aim for single males, now.”  
  
Dawson laughs, a fraction of her usual self, but it's enough.  
  
Letting out a long breath, Shay opens the door and swings herself half-way out of the rig, standing on the high step with one arm braced along the roof.  
  
“Come on, Mills is cooking today. We better get in there and grab some decent food before it's all gone.” She smiles once, lightly, and then disappears as she jumps to the ground, heading for the exit. Shay doesn't look back, but she hears Dawson's door open and shut, the familiar squeak of her boots on the floor. By the time she's at the door, she's fallen into step behind her.  
  
…  
  
Dawson goes home that night without seeing Shay again, flops down on her bed without changing or eating or turning on the lights. She'd been making herself be angry at Shay because thinking about the reasons why she really wasn't angry made her stomach burn with anxiety. Lying in the dark, Dawson relaxes enough to admit to herself that if she thought about it logically, she couldn't blame Shay for any of it, because she had initiated it. She had wanted it. She still, maybe, very much does. And admitting that to herself makes the anxiety come rushing back in a sickening wave.  
  
She doesn't like women, she tells herself, and besides, she likes Casey, not Shay, and Shay is her friend, and she doesn't want to have sex with her (again).  
  
Dawson takes a deep, long breath, exhales, tries to relax against the bed. She slides her hand beneath her underwear, tries to picture Casey's eyes, his hair, and the way he smiles. Instead, all she remembers is Shay's body, how her skin was hot and powdery-dry against her own, ghostly pale but for the red of her mouth and the glow of her eyes as she hovered above her.  
  
Dawson takes a lukewarm shower, instead, goes to bed feeling awful and wakes up feeling worse.  
  
The next day at work, she's as unfocused as she's ever been on the job. She catches herself staring at Shay's long, thin fingers on the steering wheel. She watches her mouth as she talks, knows that Shay is noticing her do it but can't stop. The familiar smell of her in the front seat is overwhelming, now.  
  
At lunch, she sits as far away as possible, sandwiching herself between Mills and Mouch. Shay laughs from across the room and it sends shivers down her spine.  
  
So, yeah. Maybe she wants to have sex with her again. And maybe she needs to figure out how to be okay with that.  
  
It's easy enough to realize it, but it's much harder to come to terms with what it means.  
  
...   
  
They go another three days all awkwardness and barely speaking and Dawson flushing hot then cold on the infrequent occasions that Shay touches her. On the fourth day, after Dawson nearly trips out of the rig because Shay had put a hand on her waist when she was manoeuvring around her, Shay corners her in the locker room and bars the door behind them. She's asking kind, logical, best friend things like is she okay and does she want to talk about it and she knew it would get weird and they can move past it and. Dawson barely hears the words, can't focus on anything but Shay's caring eyes and how much she loves her (as a friend) and wants her (and that isn't friendly, at all).  
  
“Dawson? Really, are you okay?”  
  
Dawson looks her in the eye, wants to run and wants to beg her to teach her how to do this.  
  
“It's just... I just...” She feels nauseous and stupid. Like something is coming undone inside of her.  
  
Shay raises an eyebrow, prompting. Dawson presses her up against the lockers and kisses her. Shay lets out a little oof of surprise when her back hits the metal and then it's nothing but lips and teeth and tongue and Dawson's hands in her hair and goosebumps all over. Dawson presses their bodies together and kisses deeper. She can't breathe for the sudden rush of relief and desire hitting her at once.  
  
When she's finally forced to pull back for air, she keeps her eyes closed, head hovering near Shay's shoulder but not touching it. She feels panic start to creep in. She wonders how often Shay has straight women throwing themselves at her and making complete messes of their friendship. Shay shifts underneath her and then Dawson feels a cool hand brushing her hair back off her forehead.  
  
“So that's what this is all about, huh?” She huffs a laugh and lets her head fall forward to rest in the crook of Shay's neck.  
  
“I think I like you.”  
  
Shay hums, and they've known each other long enough that Dawson can hear the smile in her voice.  
  
“I like you, too, dummy.”  
  
Dawson grunts and pulls back so she can see her face.  
  
“No, but I like you, like you. Like I like men, like you.”  
  
Shay's smile is visible now.  
  
“I know. And I like you like you, like I like women. Which, considering I'm a huge lesbian, means we're probably on the same page, here.”  
  
Dawson huffs a laugh again, and it's still terrifying and she still has no idea what she's doing but it's the most comforting, calming feeling just to be close to Shay again.  
  
 _I am so screwed_ , she thinks, and then leans in to kiss her.  
  
…  
  
It's probably a really bad idea for them to just jump straight to having sex again. They haven't talked about anything and besides the glaring issue of Dawson's mild sexuality crisis, Shay is notoriously commitment-phobic yet somehow equally bad at casual unless she can kick the other person out in the morning. Dawson has never been good at casual, full stop, and this was never going to be casual when Leslie is one of her best friends and they know everything about each other and they already live in each others pockets six days a week. But Shay had followed her home after shift and Dawson had taken one look at her standing awkwardly in the middle of her tiny studio apartment (and had Shay ever even been inside her apartment? She'd never really had reason to, before) and she'd just had to kiss her again.  
  
It has the same effect as last time, especially in such close proximity to her bed. Dawson goes breathless and hot and stretches up on her toes to get closer to Shay. She tugs her slowly backwards until she feels the brush of her comforter at the back of her knees, then overbalances them, moaning when Shay lands heavily on top of her. Sharp hip bones dig into the inside of Dawson's thighs, warm stomach pressing satisfyingly between them.  
  
Shay doesn't rush into it, this time, revelling in showing Dawson all the ways she can make her moan by kissing along her jaw, kneading her breasts, biting at her nipples and making her hips buck off the bed, teasing with fingers around the inside of her thighs until Dawson's whining at her. Then twisting fingers and sloppy, open-mouthed kisses and Shay is pretty sure she might have set a record, had she been looking at the clock, with how quickly Dawson is panting and twisting underneath her and then sighing into the skin of her neck as she comes down.  
  
It takes Dawson a few moments to get her voice back, and all that comes out is, “Wow.”  
  
Sitting back on her haunches, still straddling Dawson's stomach, Shay grins with thousand-watt force and laughs, “Thanks, I do my best.”  
  
Taking a gulp of air, Dawson surges up and kisses her, rolls them over so she's laying half on top of Shay, determined to reciprocate before her nerves and the heaviness of doing this while completely sober catch up with her.  
  
Long moments of silence, Shay's shifting, her focused face, and Dawson pulls back and huffs, “I'm sorry, I just have no idea what I'm doing here. Sorry.”  
  
Shay stops trying to get traction against her fingers and reaches up to lay a hand along her cheek.</p>

  
“Hey, no, it's okay. Just relax. Here, just...”  
  
She moves out from under her and turns onto her side, slides her body up against Dawson's till they're pressed together, chest to back. She lays her leg along the outside of Dawson's and rubs their feet together, twisting her neck to kiss her, lazy and slow. After a minute she takes hold of Dawson's hand and slides it back between her legs, speaks right up against Dawson's mouth, lips brushing, noses bumping together.  
  
“Just think about what you'd do to yourself.”  
  
She guides Dawson's hand for a moment until she catches on to the rhythm, then lets go. She's right: like this, with her arm around the sharp jut of Shay's hip, her wrist brushing the dip of her stomach, it's easier to remember what is where and what to do with her fingers. She tries to gauge the pitch of Shay's breaths and moans, picking up speed incrementally, changing what she's doing if she's been quiet for a while. She knows she's done something really right when Shay's hand shoots down to grab her wrist and hold her hand in place, when she groans “harder, just there”, the muscles in her back twitching and shifting against Dawson's chest. Dawson mouths at her neck and pushes down hard with her thumb, quickening the pace of her fingers inside her, and goes slack with awe as Shay gasps and grabs at her hair and comes.  
  
…  
  
When they've caught their breath (and lost it, and caught it again), Dawson puts her underwear back on to go to the kitchen and flushes all over at the way Shay looks at her a she leaves the room. She comes back with tupperware containers stacked on top of each other in one hand, two bottles of gatorade in the other. Shay has a small laughing fit when Dawson chucks one of the bottles at her from the doorway, but stops finding it funny when Dawson tells her she's going to need it. They eat reheated chicken mac and cheese by the light of the bedside lamp, and Shay makes the same kind of appreciative noises at the food that she did while Dawson was touching her, until finally Dawson has to take the food away and go back to proving that cooking is not all she's good at.  
  
Later, when they've crawled beneath the sheets, Dawson hesitates, not sure of the rules about contact not directly preceded by sex, especially with Shay who has bitched to her in the past about clingy women and cuddling in bed. Now, she rolls her eyes and wraps an arm around Dawson's waist, grunts, “Oh, shut up,” when Dawson smiles, blinding though she's not even facing her.  
  
Shay is silent for a while, then opens her mouth to speak, closes it and is silent for a little longer, then: “So.”  
  
Dawson shifts so she's half-facing her, twining their legs together and delighting in the way it feels. “So?”  
  
Shay narrows her eyes a little, annoyed that Dawson's not going to help her out with this at all.  
  
“So, we had sex again.”  
  
Dawson smirks.  
  
“We definitely did.”  
  
“And you're... still happy about that?”  
  
Dawson opens her mouth with a quip on the tip of her tongue, but closes it again when she looks at Shay's serious eyes, the little pull around the corner of her eyes that says she's concerned.  
  
“Yeah, I am.”  
  
Shay's face relaxes perceptibly. She studies Dawson's face for a moment, then reaches out to run her finger down the tip of her nose.  
  
“You're so beautiful.” she sighs, and then leans forward to bestow another long kiss.  
  
When they break apart, Dawson smiles brilliantly again, says, “Well now I'm really happy.” Shay laughs, then rests back against the pillows. It's a mirror image of the conversation they had that first night, but no one's lying or letting the afterglow cloud their judgement, now.  
  
“So,” Shay says again, quietly.  
  
“So, what are we gong to do now?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Dawson shrugs, the sheet slipping down her bare shoulder.  
  
“I don't really know, I guess.” Shay nods, and waits. “I mean, you're gonna have to give me a little while to get used to this, but...” She leans forward and kisses Shay quickly, lightly, “I want to get used to it.”  
  
Shay smiles.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Okay?”  
  
“Yeah. I guess we just... take it slow, and see where this leads.”  
  
“Yeah. I'd like that.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
They grin at each other in the dark. Dawson slides forward again, till their noses are pressed together, and whispers, “We're gonna be fine.”  
  
Shay kisses her, thinks,  _better than fine.  
  
..._

 


End file.
